Bertie grinned politely. He always grinned when he was not quite equal to the intellectual pressure of the conversation. As a consequence of which, he was generally, like Mrs Fezziwig, one vast, substantial smile.
“I never liked Mill much,” said Barry, “but I think it’s rather bad luck on the man.”
“Once,” announced M’Todd, solemnly, “he kicked me—for making a row in the passage.” It was plain that the recollection rankled.
Barry would probably have pointed out what an excellent and praiseworthy act on Mill’s part that had been, when Rand-Brown came in.
“Prefects’ meeting?” he inquired. “Or haven’t they made you a prefect yet, M’Todd?”
M’Todd said they had not.
Nobody present liked Rand-Brown, and they looked at him rather inquiringly, as if to ask what he had come for. A friend may drop in for a chat. An acquaintance must justify his intrusion.
Rand-Brown ignored the silent inquiry. He seated himself on the table, and dragged up a chair to rest his legs on.
“Talking about Mill, of course?” he said.
“Yes,” said Drummond. “Have you seen his study since it happened?”
“Yes.”
Rand-Brown smiled, as if the recollection amused him. He was one of those people who do not look their best when they smile.
“Playing for the first tomorrow, Barry?”
“I don’t know,” said Barry, shortly. “I haven’t seen the list.”
He objected to the introduction of the topic. It is never pleasant to have to discuss games with the very man one has ousted from the team.
Drummond, too, seemed to feel that the situation was an embarrassing one, for a few minutes later he got up to go over to the gymnasium.
“Any of you chaps coming?” he asked.
Barry and M’Todd thought they would, and the three left the room.
“Nothing like showing a man you don’t want him, eh, Bertie? What do you think?” said Rand-Brown.
Bertie grinned politely.
VI. TREVOR REMAINS FIRM
The most immediate effect of telling anybody not to do a thing is to make him do it, in order to assert his independence. Trevor’s first act on receipt of the letter was to include Barry in the team against the Town. It was what he would have done in any case, but, under the circumstances, he felt a peculiar pleasure in doing it. The incident also had the effect of recalling to his mind the fact that he had tried Barry in the first instance on his own responsibility, without consulting the committee. The committee of the first fifteen consisted of the two old colours who came immediately after the captain on the list. The powers of a committee varied according to the determination and truculence of the members of it. On any definite and important step, affecting the welfare of the fifteen, the captain theoretically could not move without their approval. But if the captain happened to be strong-minded and the committee weak, they were apt to be slightly out of it, and the captain would develop a habit of consulting them a day or so after he had done a thing. He would give a man his colours, and inform the committee of it on the following afternoon, when the thing was done and could not be repealed.
Trevor was accustomed to ask the advice of his lieutenants fairly frequently. He never gave colours, for instance, off his own bat. It seemed to him that it might be as well to learn what views Milton and Allardyce had on the subject of Barry, and, after the Town team had gone back across the river, defeated by a goal and a try to nil, he changed and went over to Seymour’s to interview Milton.
Milton was in an arm-chair, watching Renford brew tea. His was one of the few studies in the school in which there was an arm-chair. With the majority of his contemporaries, it would only run to the portable kind that fold up.
“Come and have some tea, Trevor,” said Milton.
“Thanks. If there’s any going.”
“Heaps. Is there anything to eat, Renford?”
The fag, appealed to on this important point, pondered darkly for a moment.
“There was some cake,” he said.
“That’s all right,” interrupted Milton, cheerfully. “Scratch the cake. I ate it before the match. Isn’t there anything else?”